Mind Over Man
by NHPW
Summary: Between the Darkness and the Light gap filler. Sheridan breaks; Delenn rebuilds him.
1. Break

Disclaimer: I don't own anything or anybody. All hail JMS, who built this playground fifteen years ago; sorry I didn't discover it sooner.

Author's note: Gap filler for "Between the Darkness and the Light." I don't care how much of a survivor Sheridan is, he is human, and a week's worth of imprisonment and torture must have had _some_ lingering effects. Plus he clearly cleaned up a bit before he took command of the Aggie.

This started as a 1-part story for which I could not decide on a title; "Break," "Cry" and "Armor" were all contenders, until a particularly dull day at my real job, when I realized these were all parts of the same, bigger story.

Summary: Sheridan breaks, and Delenn rebuilds him.

**Mind Over Man**

**Part 1 - Break**

"I uh. I need to make a call. Is there…" Sheridan flexed his arm uncomfortably. He was exhausted, but so much work lay ahead of them. That was good, that was just fine, because as long as his attention was focused on the next stage of the war, it was not focused on his pain, or on Susan, or on the nightmares he saw behind his eyes – nightmares he knew would haunt him the second he fell asleep.

"You _need_ a doctor," Delenn replied.

"No, Delenn, I told you, I'm fine. I need to call Captain James. Susan asked –"

"I heard her. Marcus heard her. We will get word to Captain James that you are coming aboard the Agamemnon _after you have seen a doctor_ and gotten some sleep."

He was nearly manic at the thought of being forced to face the anguish that awaited him if his mind was pulled away from battle tactics and attack plans. "I will sleep when this is over. Not before." He shook his head in determination.

"A shower, at least," she coaxed, reaching out for him. Her hand brushed his arm and he moved away and began to pace the corridor of the Minbari ship. "You should at least clean up a bit. You… have a smell…"

"Well, thanks very much for pointing that out. Funny thing about being a prisoner of war, they don't concern themselves too much with your hierarchy of needs." He stopped pacing, raked his fingers angrily through his oily hair and clawed at his scalp. Then he stopped, just stopped, and looked at her. The pain in her eyes gave him a whole new way to hurt. "Ahh… dammit!" He exclaimed, and in one swift motion, he lifted a fist and punched the wall.

Her arms were around him then, and her embrace was a natural sedative. The fight washed out of him, and he was no longer Captain John Sheridan, resistance leader, military governor of Babylon 5, the man who had led an interplanetary force into victory over the Shadows – he was just John, an ordinary man, who was very tired, and hurting, and afraid. He felt like a lost child, and all of his fear and pain and grief and loneliness and the feeling that nothing was ever going to be the same ever again overwhelmed his senses. He slid to the floor, defeated.

Wordlessly, gently, she helped him again to his feet. He was catatonic but complacent as she led him into a small room, where Minbari doctors tended to his physical injuries: electrical burns, broken ribs, abrasions and bruises in various stages of repair. They asked him questions he did not hear, but when Delenn translated them, somehow he heard and understood. He answered, but later, he would block it from his mind.

_Were you poisoned?_

Yes.

_Powder? Liquid? Did it have a taste?_

Both, I think. No.

_Any other drugs that might be in your system?_

Hallucinogens, I think. At the end.

_How often were you beaten?_

Daily, at least.

_When was the last time you ate?_

I don't remember.

_Drank?_

I don't remember.

His answers were monotone, eyes focused straight ahead. They laid him back for a bioscan, looking for internal injuries. They moved to hook up intravenous fluids – to hydrate, and to clear out any remaining drugs or poison – and he pulled away instinctively, almost violently. And then Delenn was there, cradling his pounding head. Her presence brought a moment of clarity and he lifted his eyes to look at her.

"Not broken," he whispered.

"No, John." She caressed his face – at it was, covered in cuts, chapped lips, bruises and a week's worth of facial hair – and he leaned into the touch. "Not broken."

Her words lifted him. He'd been so close; another day, maybe less, and he would have broken, or he would have died. And yet, she was here, the same as ever.

"Strong." They must have given him something to help him sleep. His eyelids suddenly weighed a ton, and words seemed just out of reach. He grasped the important ones.

"Yes. Strong," she repeated.

"Changed, though."

"Yes."

Worry flooded Sheridan's exhausted mind. "Love you?"

He could make out the glistening of tears in her eyes. It broke his heart in a million pieces in the few seconds it took her to respond. "I love you, too." Delenn's tears overflowed, and against his will he felt his own eyes welling up. He squeezed her hand desperately, fighting the sedative.

"Stay." He was pulling away. Sleep seemed like the best idea he'd ever heard.

"I will stay. Sleep, now."

He relaxed slightly, but then his muscles clenched and he was clutching her as if she were his lifeline. "Delenn!" For all of his military training, all of his experience in doing what needed to be done and damn the consequences, for all of his fearlessness and fierce resolve to win this war, he was suddenly terrified, slipping, falling…

The tears rode in on a deep sob, and he felt her pulling him close with all her might. He had survived the torture, the pain, the inquisition. He had been strong. He hade been a soldier, a POW, and he had refused to be broken. But here, on this Minbari cruiser, in the safety of Delenn's embrace, he surrendered. He surrendered his fear for the final battle, his physical and mental anguish from captivity, the guilt over his dad and Ivanova and even Garibaldi, and he allowed his armor to crack, and to break.

Delenn accepted it all, holding him as he cried. Wave after wave of tears and fresh sobs racked his weak and tired body, and she bore it all for him. She rubbed his back in gentle circles, felt his tears soak her clothing. She restrained her own tears – his were enough for both of them. _No, not broken_, she thought. _But certainly changed_.

It felt like hours, but John's sobs eventually faded to soft whimpers, and then finally, blissfully, quiet as his body became heavy with sleep. Delenn rolled him onto his side and then curled up behind him, still holding him tight. The sounds of the Minbari medical personnel became background noise to his breathing, and she relished in the gentle rise and fall of his chest – proof of sleep, and proof of life.

"Delenn?"

Her personal physician stood by the bed now. "Yes?"

"His bioscan was clear. No damage to internal organs, but I would like to run some further tests to check for infection."

"Thank you."

"Is there… anything else we can do?"

She looked down at John, her sweet, wonderful John, and sighed. "Pray for him. Tomorrow he will take his war home."

"Entil'zha, with all due respect, I strongly advise that he waits at least a couple of days. He's dehydrated, his ribs and burns need time to heal, his wounds may be infected –"

She shook her head. "It won't matter to him. If anything, once he is rested and thinking clearly, being injured will only strengthen his resolve."

"He is foolish. Dangerous."

"He is human."

"I had forgotten." The doctor smiled. "You'll stay here tonight, then?"

"He asked me to stay. I will stay as long as he needs."

"Goodnight."

She bowed slightly, then ordered the lights out and lay back down beside him. "Goodnight."


	2. Cry

See Part 1 for Disclaimer.

The Mora'dum is from a Season 5 episode, for which the title escapes me currently, but the correlation seemed appropriate, and, I thought, goes a long way to explain why he was back on his feet so quickly.

**Part 2 – Cry**

Sheridan opened his eyes to darkness and startled, froze – he was back on Mars. No. _No!_ He couldn't take any more…

Then his other sense kicked in and he relaxed at the incline of the bed beneath him, the unmistakable smell of a medical facility and the warmth of the woman curled behind him, her arms holding him protectively. He closed his eyes again in relief as the memory came back to him. He'd been rescued and put onboard a White Star. He'd met Delenn on this Minbari cruiser. Susan was… Susan was dying. He, himself, was lucky to be alive. So was Garibaldi, it seemed.

He almost laughed. Two years ago he'd been asked by the cruel inquisitor whether he'd be willing to sacrifice the people he worked with, the people he called friends, in the war that was to come. If Sebastian only knew now how that sacrifice had come to pass…

But Delenn. Delenn was here, with him, alive, safe, warm… strong.

"John?"

Instinctively he rolled toward the voice, her voice, wincing as the simple motion sent a sharp pain through him.

Delenn helped him settle onto his back. "You have three broken ribs," she told him. "It would be wise for you to stay off of your left side."

John nodded. "What time is it? How long…"

"You have been asleep for five hours." _It was not a peaceful sleep_, she thought. _It is said that Minbari never tell anyone the whole truth, so I will not remind you of your night terrors if you do not remember them._

"Five hours?! Oh dammit, Delenn. I have to – Ow!"

"You are injured." Her voice was firmer now, less full of concern and more directive. "You need time to heal, and you need. To lie. Down." With firm, loving hands, she again helped him back into a reclined position.

John sighed heavily and surrendered. His body still hurt and his mind was a mess. He felt much older than he was. "How's Ivanova?"

"No change." She laid down beside him on his right side, where it seemed his torturers had spared his ribs, and hugged his waist as she laid her head on his chest. She was sure she would never tire of hearing his heartbeat. It proved his strength, even when his body betrayed it.

They fell into silence. Delenn's thoughts were on him, on his love and well-being, but John's drifted. He thought about Ivanova, and how she had asked him, perhaps her last request, not to carry any guilt for her. He'd already failed at that, last night. But he would work on it, he promised himself.

He thought about Michael and the truth behind his attitude this year, behind his betrayal. They'd spoken at length on the White Star on the way to this ship… and Sheridan had given forgiveness when Garibaldi had pled for it. But it still hurt. It would for awhile.

And he thought, finally, painfully, about the events of the last week – his capture, imprisonment and torture. God, it hurt. The mental anguish of reliving it, even in the small snippets he allowed before he pushed back against the memories, hurt worse than his physical wounds. Those wounds would heal, in time. His mind… his mind had changed so much in the last year. He'd come back from Za'ha'dum feeling stronger, wiser, harder, more determined. He'd driven away the Vorlons and the Shadows – well, _they_ had. He couldn't have done it without Delenn.

But now… his own people, his own government, had nearly finished the job the Shadows began.

He sighed and turned his head to look at Delenn. And there she was, watching him. No doubt she'd been watching the emotions play across his face. It was possible she could even match his facial expressions to what he'd been thinking. "_I know your heart, John_," she'd told him months ago. And she did. She knew him better than anyone else; better even, he sometimes thought, than he knew himself. This had been such a difficult year, and he would willingly admit he couldn't have done it without her – without her beside him in battle, without her in his arms after a long day, without her words when he didn't know what to say… without her. So why, now, was he trying to protect her from this?

"_When I help you clean up your place, I am helping _you_."_ The memory of the reverend's wise words, spoken what seemed like ages ago, brought a small smile to his face. He opened his mouth and began to speak.

"They kept me in a cell… cement floor, cement walls. Easy cleanup, they said." John felt Delenn tighten her embrace, but he couldn't look at her. He knew there would be pain and sadness in her eyes, and if he saw it, he would probably lose his nerve. "I never knew… if it was night or day. It was just… dark. Just dark. Sometimes there would be a light in the hall when they came and went. Sometimes…" his voice faded. "I decided after awhile that it was morning whenever they beat me." His voice broke as the memories flooded back in one cold, unforgiving wave. He didn't fight the tears. "That sometimes meant it was morning… several times a day. Especially if I fought back. _Break the body to break the mind_, that's what they said." He paused. She waited.

"Sometimes they cranked the heat so I was sweating, so I stripped off my clothes for the sake of not passing out, and then… then they'd turn it down, way down, when I was good and drenched, so that I shivered from the cold of my own perspiration. Sometimes they fed me. Sometimes they poisoned me with that food. They kept me awake for… days at a time… and they played this message. Over and over and over… _You will co-operate with the state, for the good of the state and your own survival. You will confess to the crimes of which you have been accused. You will be released and returned to the society a productive citizen if you co-operate. Resistance will be punished, co-operation will be rewarded._" He'd heard it so many times, so many horrible times, that he had it memorized even now. He wished to God he could forget it, but it seemed forever ingrained in his mind. "They played with my mind, Delenn, in ways I… ways I can't even explain. And when it didn't work, when it all didn't work, they drugged me. Distorted my reality so much I…"

He shook his head. The tears were falling freely, silently – his, and hers. "They would've had me. If rescue hadn't come when it did… I was so close, Delenn, it kills me to think I could have – that I might have…" He let out a single, choked sob, and then set his jaw. "And now, soon, I have to go back. Back to Mars, and back to Earth. They've still got my dad, and so help me, Delenn, if they're doing half of that crap to him, heads will roll."

Delenn wanted to protest. With all her might, she wanted to keep him from this final battle, take away his pain. But she could not. His narrative proved that. This was his Mora'dum, even if he had never heard the term. And if he could stand, she had to let him go to face his terror, or he would never overcome it. In the end, either he would emerge stronger or he would die. Either way, she knew now she should not, _could_ not, stand in his way. In fact, were he a Ranger under her directive, she would not only not stand in his way – she would push him forward.

"How are you feeling?" She asked now. "Are you strong enough to stand?"

"I think so." John nodded. To experiment, he slid down the inclined bed until his feet touched the floor, then used his arms to push himself to a standing position. He swayed a bit but remained upright.

"Then we will clean you up, and I will get you something to eat. And then, when you are ready, Captain James will be expecting you." Delenn stood now, too, and faced him with more courage than she felt. The Mora'dum was more difficult, she realized, when you would gladly give your life for the one going forth to terror.

The shift in her demeanor did not escape Sheridan, but the look in her eyes told him not to ask. He saw there the brave face she was putting on for him, and he saw behind it the fear she was trying to hide. He looked down and took her small hand in his, lifted it to his mouth and kissed her fingers softly. "When this is over, before we go back to Babylon 5… no more waiting, Delenn. If we survive this, when Earth and Mars are free, I will do whatever ritualistic penance I have to do… I want you to be my wife."

She smiled at the husky tone of his voice, a glimpse of the real John Sheridan, coming back to her. "Well then, Captain. I believe the human expression to 'get the show on the road' applies." Pushing aside her fears and focusing instead on the promise of a better tomorrow, she offered him a sincere smile. "And as we say, history awaits."


	3. Armor

See Part 1 for Disclaimer and notes.

**Part 3 – Armor**

The sound of running water was music to his ears. He was certain, in that moment, he'd never heard anything more glorious.

John and Delenn stood together in the captain's quarters on board the Minbari cruiser. Their meal had been quick, and then she'd gotten the water running for a shower – a real, honest-to-God shower – and now he wanted nothing more than to let the water engulf him. He started to remove his shirt but winced in pain at the effort.

"Let me." And Delenn's hands were there, lifting the shirt up and over his head. Her fingers grazed his bare stomach and it spread a warmth through him. He let out a sound of contentment at the contact.

As she moved to unfasten and remove his pants, he noted how comfortable he felt with the gesture. She'd undressed him the night of the Shan'Fal, and he'd blushed a shade of red he didn't know he was capable of. Since then, they'd had only rare occasion to be intimate, and when they did find time, he realized now he had focused so much on the ultimate goal that he hadn't paid much attention to the removal of clothing, so long as they were, indeed, removed. Now he treasured every moment of it, relished in the brush of her skin against his as she pushed his pants down his legs to the floor.

It felt so good to have her near him, touching him, helping him. It felt good to surrender, knowing that if he allowed himself to do so, she would build him back up in all the places he was broken. She would provide the armor he lacked.

"Join me?" He asked. He was naked before her now, unashamed as her eyes roamed his battered body. She was still fully clothed.

Delenn nodded, and wordlessly John reached for her and began to undress her. She relaxed as he had under her own touch. His skin was rough, his hands calloused, but his touch was as gentle as ever.

Her smooth, unmarked skin was a sharp contrast to his. It didn't matter. She shivered and sought the warmth he projected. Hand in hand, they stepped under the spray of the shower.

Water cascaded over them, and he held her against him, eyes closed, mind finally quiet. This moment, like all others, couldn't last. All the same, this moment, the sound of the water, the steam rising around them, their bodies pressed together, was precious and quiet and healing, and he wanted to hold onto it for as long as possible.

Delenn moved first, floating out of his embrace and reaching for a bottle behind him. She dabbed shampoo into her hand, raised her arms and began to massage the gel into his scalp. John bowed his head to the touch, closed his eyes as soap ran down his face, but his hands stayed braced on her hips – his anchor.

He flinched as soap ran into a cut above his left eye, but it only hurt a moment and then her hand was there, brushing aside the offending suds before she rinsed the rest of his head.

She proceeded to wash his body in the same quiet, gentle manner, carefully cleaning cuts and bruises, only skating a touch over his broken ribs. She washed away dirt and sweat and grime. She washed away dried blood and urine and vomit. She washed away pain and shame with love and comfort, and when she turned off the spray of water and wrapped him in a towel, he felt cleaner than he'd ever been.

"Thank you."

Delenn gave him a smile, her trademark smile that covered every emotion he felt, and he hugged her as tightly as her injuries would allow.

When he released her, she lifted a hand to his face. "I will get you a razor."

John nodded in agreement. She turned away and he faced the bathroom mirror, using his hand to clear where it had fogged. He did not recognize his reflection.

_Is that me?_ He lifted a hand to his face. His reflection mirrored the motion appropriately. He touched his cheek where Delenn had moments before and felt the roughness of facial hair. It felt strange, but appropriate – an outward reflection of the change he felt inside.

"I think I'll keep it," he mused, and in the mirror, his reflection smiled. He nodded in decision. His reflection nodded. Delenn appeared behind him and he focused on her reflection as she handed him a razor. "Don't need it," he said before turning to face her.

Delenn raised her eyebrows but didn't object. He strode into the bedroom. His uniform – cleaned and pressed, ready for battle – was laid out on the bed. He exhaled slowly. Her arm came around his waist. "It is time," she said.

"Yes."

"Captain James is ready for you. The rest of the fleet is standing by, awaiting your arrival."

John nodded to acknowledge her words, but he remained rooted where he stood. So she moved, and as she had undressed him, she now reversed the dance. He stepped into undergarments and pants; she fastened them. He raised his arms and the black fabric of his uniform top hugged his torso. She fastened the notches on the side. She handed him his link and PPG and he affixed them appropriately. She handed him his command rank, but she would not place it. He would have to do that.

He accepted it from her, turned the gold bar over in his hand. The last piece of his uniform, his armor. Slowly, he lifted it to the appropriate place on his chest. His eyes locked with hers as he put it in place, a motion he'd done a million times, one he could do without looking. When he pulled his hand away, the metal felt heavier than usual.

"How do you feel?"

It was a deceivingly difficult question; it fell into the same vein as _Who are you?_ and _What do you want?_ He felt her searching his face for the answer.

"Changed," he said finally.

_Changed, indeed_. "And?"

"Tired. Hurt. Determined. Loved." He paused, pulled her close again. "Terrified."

"Strong," she offered in a whisper.

"Strong," he echoed his words from last night.

"Brave."

"Because of you."

"No, John." She released the embrace, held him at arms' length. "You were brave when I met you. And you are brave still, or we would not be standing here." She took his right hand and held it against her chest in a gesture of comfort. "And now we must go. I will join the fleet in hyperspace, and your ship awaits you."

"I know." He cleared his throat and pulled away. There was a moment where they both adjusted their thoughts, moving from love and romance to battle-ready, and then he strode out the door and she followed a step behind. As they boarded shuttles to their respective waiting battleships, he took one last look at her. He may have been strong before he met her, but he was certainly stronger now. Twice now he'd been to hell and back; twice, her love had kept him alive on that trip.

"Captain on deck!"

_Well_, he thought, _the rule of three_. _Once more into the fray._

"With the permission of Captain James, I'm assuming command of the Agamemnon. A friend asked me to command the final battle from here."


End file.
